


Unintended Pain

by DisposalUnit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Chronic Pain, Crying, Discipline, Dom Harold Finch, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Humiliation, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Naked spanking but no smut, OTK, Partial Mission Failure, Punishment, Spanking, Sub John Reese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposalUnit/pseuds/DisposalUnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch's efficiency is hampered when Reese is too reckless. Correction is in order.</p><p>Fill for an anonymous prompt at the POI Kinkfest. ( https://the-ragnarok.dreamwidth.org/36632.html )</p><p>Prompt: <i>I need harold spanking john until he cries. reasoning is not important, maybe john broke a rule, maybe john is being ~too reckless~, whatever. just. please. bare hands preferred, it's probably not enough to hurt john seriously but crying from guilt and/or humiliation would be A++</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Unintended Pain

_“Myra, there’s a detective named Fusco waiting in a car around the corner. He’ll take you somewhere safe. Now go!”_

Finch paused his furious typing as he worked to ‘liberate’ the violent fanatical group’s funds before they could empty their various accounts. “Mr. Reese, there is plenty of room for you, as well, in the detective’s get-away vehicle. I suggest you make use of it.”

Gunshots could be heard over the line.

_“I still have business to take care of here, Finch.”_

“No, Mr. Reese! Your goal of saving Myra has been accomplished! You can destroy the arms shipment later! Or we could arrange to have the authorities seize it!” The tension in Harold’s neck and shoulders, already causing him sharp pain, increased further. Sweat was breaking out on Finch’s forehead, his voice strained. “You’re vastly outnumbered! Please get out of there!”

More gunfire. A loud grunt.

Finch’s heart skipped a beat and fire lanced down his spine. “John?”

_“Just a graze, Finch.”_

A deep breath and Finch tried to continue his work while monitoring John’s situation.

A metallic click and the sound of Mr. Reese breathing heavily, sprinting. An explosion and the line went silent.

Harold felt as though his heart had suddenly frozen. “John?!”

The sound on the line returned—John panting and stumbling, but not stopping.

Finch sighed in relief, his heart no longer feeling like ice, then moaned as as the agony in his back, neck and shoulders pulled his mind back to himself.

Several moments later, John slowed to a walk. _“Finch? You there?”_

Harold opened his eyes from his deep-breathing exercise, his pain compartmentalized, for the moment. “Am I to understand you’re done with your foolhardy, self-assigned side-mission?” He wasn’t the least bit sorry that the question came out as stingingly acidic. Angry with himself, Finch grit his teeth and devoted his focus again to the task at hand.

Reese gulped, which was only audible to Finch because of the high fidelity electronic equipment. _“Yeah. I, uh... I’m headed to the safehouse to wrap things up with Myra._

The account Finch finished accessing was already empty.

John cleared his throat softly. _”Unless there’s something else I should be doing?”_

As Finch infiltrated the last account on the list, he found that it, too, held a balance of zero.

_”Finch?”_

“I’m done with you for now, Mr. Reese.” He tapped a key and ended the call, then stood to fetch his pain pills from the library’s first-aid crate. Hopefully he would be able to function long enough to wreck whatever he could of the fanatical group’s affairs, and to put the finishing touches on their Number’s new identity.

\----

When Reese arrived at his loft that evening, Finch was pacing along the floor-to-ceiling windows with his arms crossed in front of him.

Uh oh. He’d known this was coming. “Finch?”

Finch came to a stop near the bed. “Mr. Reese.”

His gut sinking, John got on his knees at Harold’s feet, eyes downward.

Finch stood over the younger man for what seemed to John like hours.

“Strip.”

The sudden command had John on his feet in an instant. He carefully removed all of his clothing and set them all, neatly folded, on the dresser, then stood at attention in front of Harold, staring past him and holding perfectly still for his inspection.

Finch silently looked over John’s naked body. The bullet graze across John’s right deltoid still bled sluggishly.

Finch sighed. “You neglected to dress your wound.”

John swallowed, continuing to stare straight ahead.

In his peripheral vision, John watched Harold remove his suitjacket, roll up his sleeves and loosen his tie. Finch gingerly sat on the bed, obviously experiencing some back pain, then patted his thigh. John obediently lay across Harold’s knees, his legs and upper body supported on the bed, his bare ass ready for punishment in Harold’s lap.

“I’m very disappointed by your behavior today.”

John whimpered, his heart plunging. That was the last thing he wanted to hear.

“Please remember that stress adds tension to my body, Mr. Reese, which puts strain on certain muscles. This can make my normal, everyday pain a great deal worse.” He paused and stroked his fingertips gently across John’s bare bottom. “Can you imagine how stressful it was for me to hear you abandoning all caution and proceeding with your suicidal plan?”

John could feel tears welling as he turned his head slightly to stare down the carpet. Finch had experienced _more_ physical pain because of him, and this knowledge speared John’s heart like a dagger.

A firm, stinging slap against one of John’s buttocks.

“I presume your ears were ringing from the force of the grenade explosion you set off, and that you didn’t hear me crying out your name, in concern.”

Slap.

“I also presume that you were unaware that your line cut out during the explosion There was _complete silence_ for a few moments.”

Slap.

“At that time,” Finch continued, his voice wavering with emotion, “I had no idea if the silence was due to the amplitude of the explosion causing clipping to the digital audio signal, or if you and your earwig _had been obliterated._ ”

After a brief pause, Harold let loose a series of fast but carefully-controlled slaps to John’s reddening ass.   
Despite John’s efforts, copious tears began to flow. He hadn’t meant for Harold to be so worried about him. 

Harold stopped the onslaught and sighed. “ _Even worse_ than causing me distress and discomfort, John, your recklessness distracted me from my own crucial task.” He lightly stroked the back of John’s head, anger put aside for now. “If I had been more focused, perhaps I could have cleaned out the organization’s coffers. Perhaps I could have left them penniless—Powerless to commit more acts of violence, at least for a time.”

Finch suddenly ran his fingers as deeply into John’s hair as he could and clenched his fist, immobilizing John’s head. “Unfortunately, they were able to move almost two million dollars to _different_ anonymous international accounts. These will remain beyond my reach unless we’re someday fortunate enough to obtain their closely-guarded account numbers _again_.”

A deep breath. A heavy sigh. “You do realize that the goverment is ignoring the Machine’s warnings about this group, don’t you? Certain goverment officials agree with this organization’s ideology, so they’ve prevented the ISA from interfering. I made the Machine to stop acts of terror, and our government is standing idly by, letting even their Relevant Numbers be killed! This group’s violence is being ignored, simply because the primary victims of this terrorism are certain innocent people who some high-ranking officials don’t like! So remember, Mr. Reese, that it is up to _us_ to stop these fanatics.”

He tightened his grip in John’s hair further, yanking his head back so that he could look into the eyes of the weeping former op. “Do you know how many womens’ health clinics they could bomb with that money? How many LGBT organizations they could attack, guns blazing? How many mosques, temples, synagogues, and gurdwaras they could terrorize?”

Harold’s furious blue eyes continued to pierce John’s own and cut straight into his soul. John sniffled, his tears and prone position making his nose run. His heart hurt. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so badly, failing Harold and their mission to save lives.

Finch pushed John’s head forward and down again, so that he was again looking at the carpet, and let go of his hair. Softly and slowly, he asked “Do you know how many trucks full of fertilizer and fuel oil those two million dollars could buy?”

John clenched his eyes shut, jaw trembling slightly. A soft whine. He hadn’t thought about what Finch was doing back in the library, while he’d been playing superhero in the streets. He’d just wanted to destroy the guns and grenades that were there in the warehouse. He hadn’t thought about—

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

The slow, rhythmic smacks against his tender skin were nowhere near enough to cause John significant physical pain. The methodical, bare-ass spanking merely served as emphasis upon the seriousness of Finch’s rebuke, and humiliation on top of John’s emotional misery.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

The inner pain, the guilt—That was where it really stung.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

A trembling gasp for breath. John wanted to scream how sorry he was, but he was too overcome to speak. Nevermind that apologies would mean very little right then. ‘Sorry’ meant nothing when people could end up dying because he’d fucked up and let his hot-headedness overrule Finch’s direct order. He’d disappointed Finch. He’d _hurt_ Finch, and because of it, innocent people could lose their lives. John’s whimpering turned into sobs. 

Soon, the spanking stopped, but John’s convulsing sobs continued. After a few minutes, Finch gently ran his cool backs of his hands over John’s florid ass, soothing away the sting.

“You may get off of my lap, now,” Harold said gently.   John slid to the floor and knelt, slumping, his face pressed against Finch’s thigh. He was unable to look up from the floor, his eyes swollen and red, his nose runny.

“Oh, my dear, magnificent John,” Harold whispered, putting his hands on John’s shoulders and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You try so hard to do good that sometimes your heart overrides your head. That isn’t always a bad thing. And I love you for it.”

John was finally able to look up, only to see that Finch’s own sad eyes brimmed with tears.

“Please know,” Finch continued, “that I can’t and I don’t blame you for my defeat. I alone must bear the the responsibility for being distracted, and I knew that I was taking on that risk the day I fell in love with you.” He lay a hand tenderly against John’s cheek. “My failure was _not_ your fault. I only wanted to impress upon you how vital your personal safety is to my effectiveness, and to my own well-being.”  

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the tears from John’s face. “Please promise me that you won’t put yourself at such unnecessary risk in the future,” Harold pleaded.

John nodded. “I’ll still have do dangerous things to save people,” he whispered, his voice broken. “But I promise to remember that you’re on the other end of the line, and that you’ll be waiting for me to get home.” 

Harold smiled, his eyes warm again. “Always.”

John raised himself up and pressed his lips against Harold’s for several good, long moments before breaking away. “I’m so sorry, Harold.”

“I forgive you, my love,” Harold said, giving him a quick peck to the lips in punctuation to his statement. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to accomplish all that I’d intended.” His eyes grew glassy and he looked away. “Although I owe that apology primarily to everyone who might die because of my shortcoming.”

John got up onto the bed and wrapped Harold in his arms. “Finch, you try so hard to do good that sometimes you forget that you’re only human. I know you did the very best you could under the circumstances. Forgive yourself, and remember that we still did a lot of good today.”

Harold nodded slightly, dejected and sniffling. John took the damp handkerchief from him and used it to softly wipe the tears from Finch’s face.  

A resigned sigh. Harold reached for John’s upper arm but stopped short, his fingers hovering over the oozing wound. “We need to clean and bandage your graze.”

  “First, let’s hop in the shower,” John smiled, getting up from the bed and offering Harold a hand. “I’m freezing.”

Finch remembered only then that John was stark naked while he was still fully clothed. “I’m so sorry, John! I should have offered you a blanket immediately after we were done!” He accepted John’s assistance in standing, then wrapped his arms around the taller man in apology.

John kissed Harold’s forehead as he removed the older man’s tie. “It’s okay, Finch.” His hands moved to the first button of Harold’s shirt. “After our shower, you can patch me up and I’ll do whatever I can to help you feel better.” Another button open. “I’d love to give you a back massage, if it would help.”

“It would,” Harold smiled, putting his hands on John’s cheeks to bring him closer, and kissing him deeply. “Now that we’ve had our catharsis, it’s time for us to heal.”


End file.
